The Art Of Deception
by Enticity
Summary: There is a killer among the Fire Nation, and both Zhao and Zula decide it's time to get rid of the Prince. Permanently.
1. The Blue Spirit Revealed

**Title: **The Art Of Deception  
**Author: **Lala-Ness (vivian)  
**Genre: **Drama + Romance  
**  
Summary: **Zuko's world had been shattered once, and Katara finds that she can  
melt the icy barrier that surrounds his heart. But there is a killer among the Fire  
Nation, and both Zhao and Zula decide it's time to get rid of the Prince. Permanently.

**Disclaimer: **Avatar: The Last Airbender and friends do not belong to me. The plot,  
however, is mine - along with any of the encounters and scenes that appear in TAOD.

* * *

**Chapter One**  
**The Blue Spirit Revealed**

* * *

His life started out with complications. 

Even before he was born, tension flowed through the atmosphere within the Fire Nation. War had broken out - long before his parents even knew each other. Not that it mattered much. His mother came from a wealthy and established family. She was expected to make a good marriage - a proper marriage. She'd been raised and educated with that in mind. It was practically the rule of thumb in her family.

His father had more ambition than security, but had earned a reputation as an up-and-comer. He was dynamic and charismatic. When the boy's mother fell in love with him, her family wasn't overjoyed, but they didn't object. Marriage to her gave his father exactly what he wanted - family name, family backing, a well-bred wide who could entertain properly and give him an heir. He hadn't loved her. The marriage was a business decision.

The boy's father had a certain amount of affection towards her. But he wasn't able, he'd _never_ been able, to give too much of himself. His business with the army took him away from home quite a bit. He was obsessed with making a fortune, making a name for himself - a permanent name - with personal and professional success. When the boy had been born, he gave his wife an emerald necklace as a reward for producing a son.

His mother adored her husband, was almost fanatic about it. As a child, the son had a nurse, a nanny, and a bodyguard. She was terrified of what her husband might do if anything happened to the boy. It wasn't so much that she worried about him as a son, but as _his _son. His symbol. In fact, she'd told her son that herself, when he was five, maybe six years old. She told him that and a great deal more once her feelings for him had changed. The boy rarely saw either of them when he was growing up.

She was so determined to be the perfect society wide, and he was always shipping off somewhere or another for battle. His idea of being a father consisted of periodic checks on his son's progress in school, lectures on responsibility and family honor. The trouble was, he had no honor himself. There were other women. His mother knew and ignored it. He'd told the boy once that there was nothing serious in those relationships. A man away from home so often required certain comforts.

His mother's feelings for his father were dead by the time he'd turned sixteen, and they were living like three polite strangers in the same house. He couldn't leave. He had no where to go. His grandmother was dead by that time. She might have understood. He couldn't be sure now. His grandfather considered the marriage a success. His mother certainly never complained, and his father had lived up to his potential. His grandfather would have been horrified if the boy had arrived on his doorstep saying he couldn't live in the same house with his parents.

He'd told his parents how they made him feel - once. They were simply appalled with him for his lack of gratitude. And his lack of...graciousness in bringing up the subject. He'd learned not to beat his head against a wall that isn't going to move and find other ways. Study, personal ambitions. He shifted priorities.

At age twenty he'd joined the Fire Nation army to aid in the war. By then, his parents were long gone. He never saw them again. From a soldier, he became captain. From captain, he promoted to Commander. And from commander, he ranked up to Admiral. He was fifty-six now, and he'd earned a name for himself all these years. He was successful - one of the top in the army. Since he'd ranked from Captain, the Fire Lord had been keeping tabs on him. He'd become Ozai's personal favorite among the other generals. And so he was given the task of capturing the Avatar.

Even now, complications surrounded him. Even now, his father's shadow lingered over his - however thin it might be. He'd become arrogant, independent, and cocky. Much of it he'd inherited from his father. As a child, he'd learned not to depend on others for what he wanted - like his mother had been. He was much stronger, much smarter, than anyone in his family ever was. In all cases he'd overcome during his time before Admiral, it consisted of missions. Missions he'd chose not to fail at. Failure had never been an option for him. It wasn't then, and it certainly wasn't now.

Zhao listened intently as pitiful soldiers stood before him, mumbling a string of explanations and reasons. _Excuses were what they really were_, he thought. _Frivolous, trivial, petty excuses_. Zhao cleared his throat - a sign that whatever plot they'd schemed to condone their inadvertent actions would only worsen their predicament; and their punishment.

One guard collapsed to his knees and held his palms together, face up, in a gesture that looked as though he were praying. _For mercy_, Zhao suspected, a smile twitching upon his lips. These fools knew his power. Not only did they know, but they feared - a reaction he'd come to enjoy from others ranking below his status.

"You lost track of them," he began, folding his arms across his chest, his face held high. "Were my instructions unclear? Which part of 'don't let the Avatar escape' didn't you understand?" _Excuses_, he thought again as he listened to the apologetic explanation. _Incompetence_. It was really, very irritating.

"I believe I told you 'by any means'. Do you need a definition of that phrase?" He interrupted them mid-sentence, silencing them with the rising tone of his voice. When they didn't answer, he continued. "No? Well, then, I suggest you find them - both of them - and quickly, or I'll be forced to think you're not half as clever as a pathetic twelve-year-old boy."

His dismissed them with the swift undulation of his hand. Without even a backwards glance, the soldiers scurried away. Zhao sneered when he heard one of them shudder. Fear of him was satisfying. Fear meant timidity - cowardicy. It assured him that he had full frontal control of his army. It meant no one dared to test his limitations - no one except the royal courthouse and the Fire Lord himself. That was fine. That was the way of things. Not that Ozai had much to test. Zhao had been nothing but loyal to his nation and his lord.

To calm himself he swiveled to gaze out at his view of the Fire Nation. He enjoyed being able to watch the noise and bustle of this small, but crowded city, while being removed from it as well. He enjoyed more knowing he walk down the market streets, wander into any of the tony shops and have whatever his whim dictated - and be recognized, admired, envied, as he did so.

Composed once again, he allowed himself to think back. There was something about that "blue spirit" that was outlandishly familiar. It's masked face wasn't one of the things he suspected as familiar. Neither was it's choice of weaponry. The one obvious fact of the matter was that whoever's face was under that distorted mask, was a citizen of the Fire Nation.

No one primitive to either the Earth Kingdom or to one of the Water Tribes could possibly move with such ferocity and aggressiveness. The Blue Spirit may have used weapons, but it still was able to swiftly and easily evade attacks. Not only that, but the anonymous fighter destroyed it's opponents instead of simply injuring them. It was exceedingly evident that anyone - bender or not - that attacked with direct viciousness belonged to the Fire Nation.

And yet despite the masked fighter's incredible ability to fight, it still lacked the skill to block the arrow that assaulted it. Zhao had seen with his own eyes the collision, and he'd watched the Blue Spirit collapse to the ground. It's insufficient ability to block a single arrow meant that the Blue Spirit was no master - but an amateur in the least.

But where did this lead him? Zhao wondered. The Blue Spirit still managed to escape, with the Avatar in tow. He was at a loss. Clenching his fists tightly, he descended the many stairs that led to the outside of the prison camp. He'd given his troops direct orders to scout the area for remains - a strand of hair, a shred of clothing, _something _that could help uncover the mystery of the Blue Spirit.

Zhao mounted the oversized rhino with a fluid grace and economy of movement, then followed the rocky path that led back to the imperial city.

* * *

It wasn't until mid-afternoon when Zhao received any prominent news of the Blue Spirit. The soldier approached the Admiral, bowing timidly, before he rose to his maximum height and handed Zhao the mask. He snatched it away, causing the soldier to jolt in surprise. Zhao dismissed him to study the mask personally. In his frame of mind, if you wanted something done, you did it yourself. Zhao's eyes narrowed. 

The mask itself consisted of only two, dull colors: a dark shade of blue and a pale-colored white. He ran the tips of his fingers across it's surface - wood. Polished wood. Whoever created the mask was clearly unskilled in the art of crafting. The Blue Spirit mask looked like a distorted version of some kind of Oni - a demon often heard of in Fire Nation mythology. Their physical manifestation looked much like that of an ogre, With fangs on both sides of it's mouth, and horns like a bull, with red, blue or black skin.

As the myth went, if it were to be suddenly disembodied, it reconnects and heals instantly. _How ironic_, Zhao mused, _that it seemed that way with the Blue Spirit_. It wasn't disembodied, but attacked with a bow and arrow. Once minute you'd see the Spirit sprawled upon the ground, and the next it's gone - as if it were able to heal and vanish into thin air. Zhao ran another finger over it's fangs before turning the mask over.

His eyes widened for a moment. Inside the mask, at the bottom right corner were carved initials. _P.Z._ Zhao nearly grinned with satisfaction. He was this much closer to finding out who the Blue Spirit was. But as quickly as the curve of lips came, they vanished. His eyes narrowed evenly, and he knew. _P.Z. _was no mystical spirit who was able to heal himself. _P.Z. _was in fact the one person he should've suspected from the beginning - the one anonymous fighter was in fact the banished prince of the Fire Nation.

He growled. The hand that held the mask insanely burst into flames, igniting the mask. The flames reflected the anger and the hatred in Zhao's eyes.

_Prince Zuko_.


	2. 100 Years

**Title: **The Art Of Deception  
**Author: **Lala-Ness (vivian)  
**Genre: **Drama + Romance  
**  
Summary: **Zuko's world had been shattered once, and Katara finds that she can  
melt the icy barrier that surrounds his heart. But there is a killer among the Fire  
Nation, and both Zhao and Zula decide it's time to get rid of the Prince. Permanently.

**Disclaimer: **Avatar: The Last Airbender and friends do not belong to me. The plot,  
however, is mine - along with any of the encounters and scenes that appear in TAOD.

* * *

**Chapter Two  
One-Hundred Years**

**

* * *

**

_"...could we have been friends?"_

Those five words echoed through his mind. Tossing and turning, Zuko plunged into the everlasting darkness - into a the illusions of dream. Everything came back all at once - fear, panic, sorrow - all the emotions he'd experienced during his banishment. Slowly, painfully, he lived through it once more. And than it was black. At first he heard nothing but the harsh breathing that was his own. And then the high-pitched sounds of an animal that he couldn't comprehend - a chirping bird? He couldn't tell.

And than he awoke, shivering with cold, basking in the bright sunlight drifting through the windows. He didn't know where he was, only that he was on the floor instead of in bed. And it was cold enough that he could see the white mist of his own breath blend with the pouring brightness . He rolled over, gained his feet, then abruptly collapsed again. _What the hell?_ he wondered.

He took a quick search around the room. It wasn't his. Forcing himself back to his feet, he wobbled, but managed to gain balance. Walking over to the window, he attempted to look out - and realized he couldn't reach the window-sill. _What the hell?_ He hopped once, testing how high up he could see. Doing so again several more times, he was able to glimpse out the window enough times to establish that he wasn't cruising along the ocean anymore.

_What the hell? _Now he was angry - no, more than angry. He was down-right _pissed. _What was going on? Where was he? And why can't he reach the damn window? He stomped out the door, and nearly gasped. Stepping back into the room, he looked into the mirror. His first reaction was mere shock. And then fear. What the hell happened to me? It was no wonder why he couldn't reach the window. He wasn't five feet and eleven inches tall anymore - he was a midget. There was no other word that could describe him at that very moment.

He was a short, pudgy, _midget_.

He screamed, and halfway through, he covered his mouth. It was a high-pitched scream. _What happened to my voice?_ he wondered frantically. _What the hell happened to me?_ He cleared his throat. "Good morning," he tested, and almost shrieked with sheer terror. That wasn't his voice! It sounded like a child! A midget child! _Shit! Shit! Shit!_ Abruptly, he stopped circling around the room and took a deep breath. Thinking like a toddler would only worsen his predicament.

_Think! _he forced himself to close his eyes. The last think he remembered was..."Oh God," he moaned, and hiccuped. Slapping a hand over his mouth, his eyes widened. He never hiccuped before. Why was he hiccuping now? Why? Why? _Why? _He looked in the mirror again. He could see the pale oval of his face, so young, so not him, with those thoughtful, and innocent looking eyes and smooth skin. He wasn't Prince Zuko anymore.

He touched a small hand to his cheek, drawing it over his left eye. The scar was gone - not even a trace of it trailed along his new skin. His eyes trailed down to his stomach. _Is that BABY fat?_ He poked it, and watched it bounce back out. What happened to his athletic build? Wrinkling his nose, he shook his head. No, he _definitely_ wasn't Prince Zuko anymore.

Wrapping the sheets around his shoulders, he stepped out of the unfamiliar room. He wrinkled his nose again. Not only did he suddenly shrink, he was slouching. Straightening his posture, he stepped deeper into the hallway. _Where am I?_ Looking behind him, he saw other rooms. _Is anyone in there? _Deciding not to find out, he continued walking forward, and stopped unexpectedly when his newfound nose caught the scent of food. _Home-cooked food?_ he wondered, and licked his lips. Realizing the idiocy of his thoughts, he shook his oversized head and hastily made his way to what looked like a kitchen.

"Did you enjoy your sleep, young one?" The man standing beside the table was younger than Zuko had expected. He couldn't have been far into his sixties. His small, almost delicate build was almost completely covered by his long, orange robe. His face was fox-sharp - the narrow, somewhat aristocratic nose, the high, planed cheeks, the tapered chin. _He's bald_, Zuko noted, _probably some kind of monk_. And than he saw the blue arrow marked upon the man's forehead - the Air Nomad's sign.

"You're an Air-Temple monk!" Zuko declared, shoving a small, pudgy finger into the man's robe. He smiled, a quick flash that deepened the lines time had etched on his face. "Of course. My name is Monk Gyatso - I thought you'd remember my name by now." The monk chuckled. He handed Zuko the large plate before he had the chance to refuse. "It's soup - be careful with it. Aang will be out shortly, so you may dine with him this morning." Zuko raised a brow. _Aang? _It sounded familiar. Only when the other boy stepped into the room did Zuko remember.

"The Avatar!"

The bald boy jumped at Zuko's sudden outburst. "We can go visit Avatar Roku's temple later. How did you sleep, Kuzon?" Aang grinned, using his air bending to drift the plate of food away from Zuko's hands. "Thanks for the soup."

"The Avatar!" Zuko repeated, and prepared to attack once more. His hand shot out, and burning flames shot out, setting Aang into flames. Aang shrieked maniacally, begging him to stop - or so he'd imagined. Only a puff of smoke coughed out of his hand. Zuko's brows furrowed. "Why can't I bend?" He shook his hand furiously. "I can't fire bend."

Aang chuckled along with Monk Gyatso. "Silly boy," Gyatso commented, before pouring tea into the china he'd placed upon the table. Aang put his hands on his hips and grinned that irritating smile once more. "Your Dad said he wasn't gonna train you until you're older. Did you forget already, Kuzon?"

"Stop calling me Kuzon!" Zuko stomped one foot upon the ground and threw his hand out again. The same reaction - nothing. _Damn it! _"My name is Prince Zuko," he told them more calmly, collapsing to the ground. What was happening to him? Last night he was Prince Zuko, heir to the Fire Nation. And then he wakes up one day - a midget with baby fat who slouches and can't firebend. He glared at Aang. "My name isn't Kuzon. It's Prince Zuko," he told them again. "I'm the Fire Lord's son."

Aang's eyes widened, and for a moment, Zuko almost believed that he remembered everything. That he'd be frightened. "Yeah! You'll be Zuko, the Fire Prince. And I can be..." He rubbed a thoughtful hand on his chin. "I'll be Reizo, the dreaded spy who's out to get you. You have to try and catch me and kill me so you won't die." He grinned. "That's a great idea, Kuzon."

Exasperated, Zuko sighed. "Yeah...whatever."

Aang smiled at the Monk. "We're not really hungry. Can we go out and play?" Gyatso pondered for a moment, and found himself looking into the wide, oval shaped eyes of the little boy. _Not the puppy-face_, he mused. "I suppose-"

"Yes!" Before Gyatso spoke another word, Aang had seized a hand on "Jiro's" arm and was dragging him out into the garden. It was, Zuko thought, the most wonderful place. Not grand and elegant like the houses back home with their fluidity and feminine grace. But vibrant and unique and powerful. Right now, he'd thought of it as a castle. A place of dreams and beauty and great strength.

Even from the garden, he could see the outside of the temple. It was simply stunning. Stunning and proud against the sky, with towers defiantly rising. The garden itself was beautiful like a dream. Beautiful dreams with flowers spread at its feet like an offering and grand old trees guarding it's flanks. For a few precious moments, Zuko forgot that it wasn't real.

Aang led him down the garden path, through the wildly blooming roses, past the glossy leafed camellia, wound through the hills of azaleas with their blooms longs since spent, and fragrant spires of lavender that would scent the air all the way into winter. The world was lush here, full of color and shape and perfume. A lazily elegant place of bricked paths and lovely benches set just so among the beds and shrubs with overflowing pots of mixed blooms tucked arctically among the stream. The result was like a painting, meticulously executed.

"Hey, Kuzon?"

"Yeah?" Zuko replied to the name without even bothering to remind the boy that it wasn't his.

"Do you think if we lived a hundred years from now, that we would've been friends?"

And just like that, everything disappeared into a flash of darkness. The entire painting that was the garden mixed into the temples, causing all colors to blend into each other creating the black that colors always created when mixed together. Time rushed forward, and Zuko suddenly woke up in his own room.

Without another word, Zuko tossed the sheets aside and rushed to the mirror. Sighing, he looked at the figure that was truly his. He was tall again, and the baby fat was gone. "A dream," he murmured, rubbing a hand over his face. "It was all a dream." But he couldn't help but wonder if that was what it would've been like if he'd lived a hundred years ago.

* * *

This whole idea sprang into my head when I remembered that Aang had spoken of a friend who belonged to the Fire Nation. So I wondered how Zuko would've reacted if he suddenly _was _that friend. I don't know, just a theory. So if you didn't understand - **it was all a dream. **The old bald man was Monk Gyatso, and the bald boy was Aang _before _he found out he was The Avatar. 


	3. Death

**Title: **The Art Of Deception  
**Author: **Lala-Ness (vivian)  
**Genre: **Drama + Romance  
**  
Summary: **Zuko's world had been shattered once, and Katara finds that she can  
melt the icy barrier that surrounds his heart. But there is a killer among the Fire  
Nation, and both Zhao and Zula decide it's time to get rid of the Prince. Permanently.

**Disclaimer: **Avatar: The Last Airbender and friends do not belong to me. The plot,  
however, is mine - along with any of the encounters and scenes that appear in TAOD.

* * *

**Chapter Three  
Death**

**

* * *

**

On the night he was murdered, General Yasashiku dined simply on bread and tea and rice. _You'd think after ten years, you'd be showered with gifts_, he mused, _or decent food in the least_. The rice was still young, and Yasashiku was not. Neither would continue to age. Like his bread and tea, Yasashiku was a simple man. He had lived in the same little house with the overlapping, slanted, slightly curved roof - where every room had tatami mats and at least one pair of slippers - since his marriage fifty one years before. His two children had been raised there, his wife had died there.

Now at seventy-three, Yasashiku lived alone. Though he rarely took action on the battle grounds of the Fire Nation, he attended each of the mandatory meetings with the advisors, courtiers, and other high-ranking socials - and also the meetings requiring the company of those who belonged to the Lord's covenent.

He had known Lord Ozai since his childhood, and had been taught to remove his helmet and whenever he passed by. Even now if the Fire Lord traveled from the Earth Kingdom and back to his palace, he would stop if he saw Yasashiku. And they would talk of the old days when his father riled the throne. _Senior Souzen_, he called him Respectfully. General Yasashiku had great appreciation for the Fire Lord, and had been loyal to him and his the whole of his life.

For more than sixty years he had taken part in the army and court of his nation. There had been many changes - some good, in Yasashiku's opinion, some not so good. He had seen much.

Some thought, too much.

The war, lulled into dormancy by winter, would soon be in it's prime. Inflammation of his joints due to metabolic and infectious causes prevented him from taking part in the physical scenery of war, as he once had, but still, he would take his turn in offering the best of plans and routes he could discover. He would continue to do so, he vowed a long while ago, until the day he died.

He considered his sons and grandson's lives, and he didn't regret the choices he'd made. The choice to keep them as far away as possible from the strife of conflict - from death, from betrayal, from loss, from grief, from all the emotions he'd experienced throughout his life. His choice was as reasonable as it should be. He was glad it was enough of a reason to keep his family safe. Enough of a reason so that his mother and father died peacefully, enough so his sons grew, fell in love, and borned their own children.

But it wasn't enough for his brother.

His brother was a corrupt man, Yasashiku thought sorrowfully. Commander Raidon was as sinful as people came - he was immoral, wicked, _evil_. He was the epitome of all things hatred. He hated his mother, his father, his own brother - the brother that shared his mother's womb, who came to life with him. Yasashiku was regretful that the fact of the matter was that he was born into life with a heart, and his twin brother was not. For if he did, there would be no bad blood between them, no shame, no hate, no spite. In his fantasies, it was true. But in reality, it was not.

Commander Raidon's heart was as black as darkness. He shed no mercy. He showed no feelings. He was, in the least, a bastard.

Yasashiku tasted the bitterness on his tongue and sipped his tea to wash it down. Hate was not the way, despite all those who despised the Fire Lord and all he stood for. On his last night of his seventy-three years, he looked out the window, into the dusty paths of the neighborhood - his neighborhood, seeing what had been done, what needed to be done, and listened as the wind whistled through the air.

It was lonely now, in the night, in the winter, when only servants slept in the imperial palace, and the war had yet to begin once again. He wanted the spring, and the long summer that followed it, when the sun would warm his innards and Souzen's comet would arrive. He wanted, as it seemed it always had, to win the war.

General Yasashiku ached with the cold, deep in the bones. He considered heating some of the soup his granddaughter had brought to him, but his Cho was not the best of cooks. With this in mind, he made do with the bread and sipped the good, full-bodied tea by his little fire. He was proud of his life's work. The tea had been a gift, one of many given to him on his retirement, though everyone knew the retirement was only a technicality.

Even with his aching bones and a heart that had grown weak, Yasashiku would walk the markets, greet the citizens, watch the sky and smell the air.

He lived for war.

He died for it.

He drank, nodding by the fire, ith a blanket tucked around his obese legs. Through his mind ran images of sunwashed fields, of hi wife laughing, of himself showing his son how to support a small sword, to use his firebending skillfully. Of standing beside Lord Ozai on his throne during one of his many nightly dinings.

Yasashiku, he had said to him when their faces were still young, we have been given a world. We must protect it.

And so they had.

The wind whistled at the windows of his little house. The Fire died to embers.

And then the sword entered his chest. When the pain reached out like a fist, squeezing his heart to death, his killer was on the other side of the city, surrounded by friends and associates, enjoying a perfectly poached salmon and a fine cup of Ginseng Tea.


	4. Invitation To Death

**Title: **The Art Of Deception  
**Author: **Lala-Ness (vivian)  
**Genre: **Drama + Romance  
**  
Summary: **Zuko's world had been shattered once, and Katara finds that she can  
melt the icy barrier that surrounds his heart. But there is a killer among the Fire  
Nation, and both Zhao and Zula decide it's time to get rid of the Prince. Permanently.

**Disclaimer: **Avatar: The Last Airbender and friends do not belong to me. The plot,  
however, is mine - along with any of the encounters and scenes that appear in TAOD.

* * *

**Chapter Four  
InvitationTo Death

* * *

**

She burned the sauce. Mariko wrinkled her nose as she headed down the markets to her grandfather's house. She wasn't much of a cook, but she was - in general - a _precise _cook. For this meal, she'd planned to prepare Tonkatsu, one of Yakashiku's favorites, from scratch and match it with a nice field of green salad and some fresh, crusty bread with curry dipping sauce. In her tidy kitchen in her pretty suburban house she had all the ingredients lined up, her cookbook propped on it's stand.

And then she forgot all about the sauce. When she finally remembered to check up on it, the curry was already completely hardened and almost impossible to scratch off the pan. It was a complete waste. Besides, Mariko would have rather been delivering food than cook it. Why it was a required trait for all women in the Fire Nation was beyond her. She never cared much for how much of something was required for just the right taste, or how many of whatever she would need to make sure it was just the right look.

The worst part, as far as Mariko was concerned, was that it was utterly boring. Stirring after stirring, cutting and cracking. But her mother had laid down the law - the one about females always presenting themselves as handy delicate flowers. And when Mother laid down the law, everyone jumped. That was the problem, she thought disgustedly. Mother was just too bossy for her own good.

Sighing, she patted the lunch in her bag. Just some deep fried pork cutlets would do. General Yakashiku was never one to be picky. She looked up into the clear blue sky and sucked in the fresh air. It was a lovely day for a walk. And her grandfather would be happy to see her - he always was. She hadn't seen him in over two months._ The man was a crack-pot_, she mused, but she absolutely adored him. She continued to wander the path, lost in her own thoughts. And the next thing she saw was a glimpse of green before finding herself sprawled across the dirt ground with cabbages flying all over the place.

"My cabbages!" a man cried, shaking his head furiously. "Look what you've done to my cabbages!" Almost as if he'd done it several times before, he picked up one by one and tried to neatly stack them one on top of another. In the end, they simply collapsed in a flourish of green heads. Mariko quickly rose, snatching her grandfather's lunch before one of the round balls could crush it. The Cabbage merchant snarled almost desperately as he chased after the rolling cabbages. "I should've sold cantaloupes," she heard him mumble.

She watched him mumble a trail of curses, before she called out. "I'm sorry!" and continued on her way to Yakashiku's home. Just thinking of the look on her grandfather's face when he saw her caused the complete dissmissal of the poor merchant. But he didn't answer. She frowned and knocked again, much harder this time. "Grandfather?" she called. No reply. She touched a hand to the sliding door, wondering if he was even home. When it easily slid open, she thought nothing of it. Slipping off her shoes, she stepped inside.

Her foolish smile changed into a look of curiosity, and than disgust. _Oh god, what **is **that smell?_ she wondered, her eyes watering from the horrible scent. In defense, Mariko began breathing though her teeth. "Grandfather?" She passed the kitchen and placed the container of food on his table. _Where could he be? _She took a hankerchief from her pocket and used it to cover her nose, though it couldn't possibly help much.

"Grandfather? I brought you lunch." She figured he was in the living room, enjoying a cup of tea and a game of Pai Gow. She stepped in and grinned. Her old man was sitting in a chair facing a window, with his back facing her. She stepped forward to greet him, but halted when the hard brush of something slid across her bare foot. She looked down and stared at the red stain. Quirking a brow, she glanced at the chair, before the realization struck her.

"Grandfather, have you been learning how to cook?" She smiled warmly. It explained everything - the smell, the stain. He was learning to cook. She thought for a moment that perhaps horrible cooking was hereditary in her family. The smile was wiped off when she recieved no response from him. Not even a chuckle and snort.

"Are you okay?" Still no answer. Her brows creased in confusion. Why wouldn't he answer? She rushed forward and swiveled the chair around. The sight of him caused color to abandon her face, turning it deathly white. Yakashiku's eyes were open, bloodshot, with his brows arched. They were no longer the beautiful chocolate brown eyes that she knew and loved, and they held no warmth, no welcoming, _no life_. They were a colorless black, and in them was stark terror.

Mariko pressed a hand to her mouth, staring down at decayed face. Her grandfather...she didn't bother finished the thought, for her eyes had trailed to to his chest, where a gaping slice seeped through his clothing, the dark liquid staning the cloth. Tears escaped her eyes, and she sobbed. The smell - it was him all along. The stain on the floor was blood. His blood. _How long have you passed, Grandfather? _she wondered painfully. _Who took you away?_

Without another word, she turned away, coughing and gagging, then began a shambling run out the door, screaming for help.

* * *

Quiet whispers of wind whistled past the trees, causing the flutter of leaves. Beneath the tall majestic beauty of the canopes, intruders only enhanced the forest's lush colors, inducing them to easily camouflage in it's glory. The crunching of aged leaves could be heard among the erotic grunts and groans of battle. It was two against one, without the use of firebending. Her hand shot out, attempting to punch one of them men square in the nose, but her wrist was easily caught and flung aside. She backed away, only to be flipped on her back by the second opponent. The vision in her eyes became hazy for a moment. The attack was so unexpected, and she hadn't been prepared.

When she came again, the two men were gone. Not a trace of them left. Snarling in frustration, she rose to put herself in a fighting stance. Firmly placing one foot in front of her, and sliding one behind to balance, she lifted her fisted hands - prepared for the next attack. Her golden-brown eyes darted from side to side, searching for any sign of the men. She was exhuasted. During the beginning of their battle, she'd receieved the upperhand, blowing both men away with the jab of her hands and the fierceness of her kicks. She'd easily evaded their attacks, ducking here and jumping there.

But they'd worn her out. It wasn't until they'd reached the forest that she knew it was their intent straight from the beginning. Fatigue had overwhelmed her, causing her offensive attacks to slow, and her only chance of not losing was to defend herself. She panted heavily as she stepped forward, beads of sweat ever so slowly running down the sides of her face. Anger roiled inside her, causing the release of weariness and the arrival of determination. Defeat was for cowards - she wasn't one.

When the glimpse of blood-red armor caught her eye, she knew. They were hiding in the trees, awaiting for her to walk right into their trap. A shrewd half-smile formed on her lips. She backed away until she was out of their visible distance. And, with the quick agility and maneuvers only belonging to citizens of the Fire Nation, she was able to climb one of trees. She took a good look ahead of her. The branches of the trees were in close proximity, which meant walking across them would be a breeze. She did so, only stepping on each branch for a half second before walking on the next one.

As she neared her opponents, her heart began racing rapidly at the intensity of it all. But it jumped when she saw that there was no one there. Confusion creased her brows. _Where were they? _Without another thought, she prepared to jump down. The sudden clash of another body into hers caused a great _whoosh _from her lungs, and she found herself headed towards the hard dirt. She angled her body so that she rolled safely on the ground before landing roughly on her feet.

Looking up, she saw nothing. And cursed - they'd fooled her again. A crunch of boots behind her sharpened her senses. Swiftly, she swerved around and jabbed one of them in the stomach. He wore the typical Fire Nation army's mask, so she saw nothing when his eyes widened in surprise. Using it to her advantage, her leg went up in a semi-circular motion before slamming hard on his left shoulder. A sharp intake of breath proved she was winning, and she watched him go to ground in a kneeling position.

Without thinking, her free leg kicked out behind her so that she was in mid-air. She remained when her foot was solidly planted on the armor of her other opponent. Within moments, another battle was emerging. The man behind her took a firm grip on her ankle and tried to twist it. She simply let go and allowed her self to twist along with it until she was standing on both legs once again. Both men rose and attacked, while she evaded and dodged. This went on until they came out of the forest and into a clearing with solid ground.

Taking the risk, she ducked one attack and shot out one hand. Fire flew out from her palm and forced the two men to back away. Both her arms were stretched out, awaiting for their next attack. They stood in a triangle - none of them moved an inch. The moments of utter silence thickened the tension that swam in the air. The fighter to her right moved forward, and she launched three Fireballs at him. He was able to dodge the first one, quickly pushed himself to the ground to miss the second, and flip in the air to evade the last. In doing so, he had allowed himself to come close enough to attack her.

He did so, jabbing her in the stomach, causing her to bend over. Then on the neck, which pushed her to the ground. And finally a foot placed on her stomach. She growled, grabbing his ankle and shoved it back, causing his balance to shake. She quickly got to her feet and shot more fireballs. His evasions weren't so graceful this time, and he fell back. She breathed heavily, still in a fighting stance and watched. Both men kneeled and bowed to her. She knew it meant she'd won, and allowed her hands to drop to her sides.

"You may rise," she told them.

"You've improved, Princess Zula," one man told her, peeling off his mask and helmet.

"Fire Lord Ozai will be proud," the other added, holding his helmet to his side.

Zula gave an unladylike snort, but both men saw the glint of fire in her eyes. "The most _he_ could be is satisfied." She spit out the last word in sheer disgust. Her chin lifted in a sign of defiance - a symbol that meant that there would be no argument about it. Both men bowed once again.

"As you say, Princess." That ended their short conversation, and they walked off towards the palace to report of their battle. She watched them in the distance. And when she was sure they couldn't hear, she cursed a string of words and sent her helmet flying into the ground.

"Satisfied, Father?" she spat, talking more to herself than anyone - or anything - else. If she were a man, things would be different. Men overuled the women in Fire Lord Ozai's nation. It was always _men_ in battle, _men_ in the army, _men _who were respected, _men _who got promoted. She hated it. As daughter of the Fire Lord, she was allowed priviledges that most people wished for, but was forbidden to attend war meetings and help the army.

_Zuko_. Unconciously, her hands fisted and lighted fire. Her brother was allowed to do anything he pleased - roam the palace, enter the war chambers, attend the meetings. While she was detained to a few rooms and Agni Kai stadiums. Yet he wanted 'what was right'. She hated him for it. It was _she _who should be heir to the throne, not her brother. She snarled, angrily tossing Fireballs to lash out her fury. She did so without thinking, so when Ozai's personal assistant came to address her, he'd barely missed the barrage of blows.

"You really should watch that temper of yours, Princess," Ryoto commented as he approached her. He was a scrawny old man, one whom she detested with all her soul.

"You should watch your back," she countered, tossing a look over her shoulder. "I might just try and do something about it."

His eyes flickered, but his composure remained calm. "Fire Lord Ozai wishes to speak with you."

"Probably about your getting fired," Zula said aloud. Her eyes widened in mock expression. "Oops, did I say that out loud?" Without waiting for his comeback, she walked swiftly past him towards the palace. "Like I said," she continued, not even glancing behind her. "Watch your back."

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	5. Inquiries Of The Mind

**Title: **The Art Of Deception  
**Author: **Lala-Ness (vivian)  
**Genre: **Drama + Romance  
**  
Summary: **Betrayal, conspiracy, rebellion - The tale of a love that can  
never be, the alliance of three enemies, the downfall of the Fire Lord,  
and the destruction of an exiled Prince's hope of ever returning home.

You like the new summary? I think it's **much **more alluring than the last one. Anyway, most readers who've been reviewing my writings should know me as the angsty, heart-wrenching kind of writer. **In Love And War **is a SokkaxSuki fic - a very funny, very cliffhanger-ish, and very "ohmygosh, why'd it stop?" fiction.

I figured there weren't enough Sokka-centered peices in the world. And I'm going into my Sokka phase. So take a look - even if you're a Zuko fanatic, and detest Aang and Katara relationships. I'm usually a Zuko/Katara or Zuko/SOTK (Someone other than Katara) shipper myself, but hey, change isn't always bad.

And fear not dear readers. Zuko, Aang, Sokka and Katara will appear soon.

**Disclaimer: Avatar: The Last Airbender and friends do not belong to me. The plot,  
however, is mine - along with any of the encounters and scenes that appear in TAOD.

* * *

**

**CHAPTER FIVE  
INQUIRIES OF THE MIND

* * *

**

The great building gleamed a fiery mixture of colors under the lowering sun, as majestic a force breasting the slope that reigned over eastern dunes and western marshes. The Royal Palace stood as it had for more than a century, a grand tribute to man's vanity and brilliance, in the very center of the Fire Nation's Imperial City. Markets pouring with civillians roamed about, still as busy as ever, even as the sun was visibly beginning to set.

Lanterns bearing Fire Nation symbols illuminated the tall, arched doorways leading to the inside of the palace. The tanned columns stood like soldiers guarding the wide veranda, but no one opened the enormous front door to greet her. As she walked closer, she could hear the crunch of gravel under her feet. Wind chimes tinkled, little notes of song. The smell of burnt paper played on the air, overscored by the light scent of freshly brewed tea. She moved quickly, hurrying up the steps, across the veranda, closing her hand over her dented helmet and entering the palace.

Not long after, Council Member Ryoto followed, the ends of his royal attire sliding ever so quietly behind him. His arms were folded in front of him, the oversized sleeves of his kimono cloaking his hands. He walked with a gracefulness that only added to Zula's list of hateful qualities. She hastened her pace, pausing only for a moment to order the old man to move his scrawny legs faster. Ryoto merely grunted, but did as he was asked.

Even so, Zula didn't bother to hide the satisfaction of power she held. As she reached her Father's chambers, the smirk had unconsiously transformed into a coldly polite expression. Without a seconds thought to whether or not the Fire Lord was in a meeting, she flung open the doors and stalked inside, her body stiffly poised, with her held held high. She was greeted with blank stares - and a pair of irritable golden ones.

The blank stares slowly eased into formal ones, each of the Noblemen of Ozai's court kneeling to bow to their Princess. "My lady," the greeted in unision. Zula gave a nod of her head and - somehow managing to keep her posture - turned to her father. It was not permitted to peasants of the Fire Nation laws to stare directly into the Fire Lord's face. Zula did so now, the small itch of fear only growing when she saw the dark glint that flashed in his eyes. With a quick wave of his hand, he had silently dismissed the courtiers so that it was only himself, his daughter and his personal scribe who remained.

"Leave us." His voice was deep, almost raspy - for he didn't need to speak very loud. The war chamber was dead quiet, and Ryoto hadn't needed to think twice before going on his knees in a bow. "Of course, my Lord." Rising, he gave Zula one last pithy glance and rushed out of the room, shutting the doors behind him.

Zula stared at the exit, wanting to grab the old man by his collar and burn him. Stifling a grunt, she turned to the Fire Lord. Lowering her gaze, she curtseyed before him. "You sent for me, Your Highness?" Her emotionless expression remained focused on the polished floors, waiting quietly for her father to reply.

"This is the first time you've interuppted me during a war meeting. So I will let you pass with a warning," Ozai told her, his voice low but firm. "Do not repeat this action." Not a question. Not a request. But a demand. Zula nodded. "Yes, my Lord."

"Your teachers have informed me of your improvement this afternoon." His voice rose now, switching from irritation back to his formal tone - one that she'd been accustomed to most of her life. "Do you agree with them?"

Zula rose from her yielding position, and crossed her arms across her chest. Her chin was lifted high, in a gesture that Ozai recognized as unquestionable confidence. It was a trait that he was personally amused by, for he had the same reaction whenever his own father had asked the same of him. "Yes, my Lord," Zula replied. "I believe I've ameliorated very much."

He nodded, just barely, but she saw that it was approval. Not pride, but simply approval. She was too aquainted with the gesture to be moved by it. "You seem confident for someone with your youth. But do not overestimate yourself." He had to need to continue, for he saw that his offspring already understood. "A boy of whom you will not mention in my presence made the mistake of overvaluing his abilities. His fate was a poor one. Do not follow in his steps."

Anger was simmering beneath the surface of her skin. Because she knew how to control it, the flames had not ignited. How dare she be compared to her brother? The fool who had practically begged to go into exile - whom she hated with all her heart and soul. And how dare _he_, ruler of the Fire Nation, tell _her _not to mention his name? She would rather him not be mention at all. She let out a quiet breath, tried to calm herself. She would not end up like her naive, foolish sibling. No, _her _fate would be much more appealing and with much more promise.

"Yes, my Lord." She all but grunted it.

Ozai allowed the silence to continue for moments before he dismounted from his throne, with his hands placed behind his back, and looked down at her. "The final battle against Ba Cing Xe will begin within a few days," he began, watching the Princess's brows rise in confusion. "As you know, the first battle ended in my defeat. This will not happen a second time." Zula very nearly smirked. Of course it would be _his _defeat, for it was _his _nation, with _his _guidance. And if a battle was lost, it would be _his _failure. The Fire Lord glanced at her once - quickly, sliently, as if he knew what she was thinking. "Thus, it will be me who will lead our nation to victory against the Earth Nation Capital."

"The true heir to the throne is in exile." Slowly, as if wanting suspense to thicken, he descended the steps towards her. "Which means that you will be asked to keep order until I return." He'd stopped a mere ten feet in front of her. "Do you accept?"

She waited, wanting him to believe she was considering the idea. But inside her mind, her decision was made. "I accept." Just as he expected, Ozai thought. How would royalty pass up the chance to lead? She would be considered more of a fool that her disrespectful brother if she had refused.

"Preparations have been made for both my departure and arrival. I expect for all order and peace to remain as so when I return."

"If I may ask," Zula inquired when her father had finished. "If a certain _boy_ cannot fulfill his duties, who will take his place on the throne?" She asked it politely, almost respectively. In doing so, Ozai had not raised his voice. Nor did he deny her an answer.

"If an heir cannot fullfill his obligations, he has no choice but to pass his crown to the next person in royalty. Be that as it may, you are and foremost a woman. And women have a no place as rulers of a nation."

"But I can fight a hundred times better than half of the men in the army." Zula's voice had rosen, and she threw her hands up to emphasis her point. Ozai's fist ignited.

"Do not _raise _your voice to your Lord," he snarled. Zula lowered her gaze quickly. Angering her father would only end in severe punishment. "My aplogies, Your Highness."

"Women have no place as rulers of the Fire Nation," he repeated. "However, you will take part in all actions and or meetings. The man you marry shall be the one to rule fully, and _completely_. You may help in his decisions, but you may not decide for him." Zula's fists clenched. She should've expected this. The Fire Nation was, after all, an oversized nation with much more men than women "I see," Zula murmured. She could see, she could understand it - but she would not accept.

"But I -" She had stopped abruptly, for the loud knock upon the entrance of the room had sounded. Ozai's eyes narrowed just briefly before transfixing themselves into their usual state. "Proceed."

The door practically rammed itself open, with the figure of Ryoto along with an unfamiliar guest. Zula expected her to be a peasant, for she wore natural civillian clothing. Her face was pale, almost ghostly, and her hands were quivering. "My lord!" Ryoto cried dramatically, approaching the throne. Ozai responded with a mere lift one brow. "Terrible news is upon, us Your Highness. Horrible, just horrible."

He collapsed, breathless, to the ground in bowing position. "My lord," he paused, as if whatever it was he was planning to say was too ghastly to speak of. "It is of our honored General." A trail of babbling followed. is time both brows raised on Ozai's clearly irritated face. What was the fool mumbling about this time? "Speak of your news, Ryoto. Your constant babble is far from amusing."

Though his face could not be seen, Zula could almost predict a bead of nervous sweat crawling its way down his skin. She almost felt sorry for the old man.

Almost.

"It's of General Yakashiku, Your Highness," Ryoto gasped. "He is dead."

The Fire Lord's face was almost priceless from Zula's view. Very rarely did anyone see his truly angry side. His face had contorted into an undescribable expression. It looked as though he couldn't decided whether to be straight-off pissed or annoyed. She saw the clenching of his jaw, and felt giddy at the scene unfolding before her.

"Explain yourself," Ozai commanded, his voice becoming loud and demanding.

Ryoto jumped, but rose from his kneeling position. He backed away, urging the peasant behind him to approach the throne. She seemed almost paler than before, and almost collapsed trying to kneel. "She was found this morning screaming," Ryoto explained. "It seems that she's the General's grandchild and was on her to to greet him."

Ozai raised a hand, telling Ryoto to pause. "This is private. We will speak more of our discussion later on this evening. You're dismissed."

"But my Lord, I -"

"Leave us." His voice had a sudden flare to it, and she knew there was no arument to be won. With a final bow, she stepped back into the hallway, but she didn't go far. She smiled to herself. Perhaps her ususally mundane afternoon would turn out to be entertaining after all.

Back in his war chamber, Ozai had resumed his seat. "Continue," he told Ryoto. And so the scribe nudged the frozen girl. She didn't look up, for it was not allowed, and told her story. The Fire Lord's expression had remained the same througout the telling of how Yakashiku was found murdered. It stayed when she finished with tears staining her cheeks. "Do you have any ideas to who would want to kill your Grandfather." As usual, it was placed as a demand, not a question. Mariko shook her head. "

"Nobody, Your Highness."

Ozai nodded slowly, as if contemplating the next step. "We will do what we can. In the meantime, you will be permitted to plan out the details for General Yakashiku's ceremony." Mariko wiped the wet drops away with the back of her hand. "Yes, My Lord." From her hiding place in the hallway, Zula licked her lips. A murder, huh? It was then that an idea whirled it's way into her head. Still maintaining that natural stiffness in her posture, she gracefully made her way to the outside of the palace.

There was a certain Admiral she needed to speak with.

* * *

**Sokka becomes even more sexist everytime someone doesn't review!  
So do yourself - and him - a favor: Review This Fanfic**

Sokka thanks you.


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